


She Comes

by UglyWettieWrites



Series: The Domme Diaries [1]
Category: The Politician's Husband
Genre: Butt Plugs, F/M, Face Slapping, Face-Sitting, Female Dominance, Femdom, Hand Jobs, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 03:37:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11660829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UglyWettieWrites/pseuds/UglyWettieWrites
Summary: She comes home a bit keyed up after a stressful television spot, and needs to blow off some steam on Aiden.





	She Comes

She came in, peeled her coat off and walked angrily into the lounge. He watched the news with a glass of wine. His graceful fingers caressed the stem, but his jaw was tight.

She turned off the TV.

“I just saw your interview on the news-“ he started, but she cut him off.

“Get on the floor.” Her hands were on her hips, and her face had a familiar hardness that he would usually respond to, but he was distracted. She had not said what they agreed to. It didn’t put him in a bad light - far from it - but he didn’t understand her judgment.

He sighed. “I’m not-“

“Get on the fucking floor right now or I swear you won’t sit right for a week,” she said, jabbing her polished finger to the hardwood.

He slid off the sofa to kneeling, holding his hands up. She walked to him and slapped him, hard, her teeth bared.

“I said get on the floor, not kneel on the floor, Oxford boy,” she said. “Has the wine fucked up your comprehension?” She grabbed his shirt collar, twisted, then pushed him down until he lay flat. She stood above him, staring for a bit. He tried to touch her ankle, but she stepped on his hand. Not enough to crush, but enough to ache.

“I didn’t say you could touch.” She was panting lightly. She blinked quickly, like she did when she was thinking a thousand things at once.

His eyes rolled to her heels, horsehair printed in a cheetah pattern. His lips pursed.

“What?” she said, putting her foot on his chest. She plucked at a button with the stiletto.

He remained quiet. The heel dug into the meat of his pectoral. 

“Naff,” he said, looking at her defiantly.

She chuckled, but her cheeks were rose.

“You wanna be bratty now because you didn’t get your way? You snobby bitch.” The heel dug in hard enough to make him gasp. His pain made her moan. She moved her foot to nearer his throat and bent over him. “Bitch,” she repeated softly.

He sighed. He’d finally caught up.

She stepped over him, putting her whole weight on his strong core, then sat on the sofa and crossed her legs. He remained on the floor, but he stared at her with longing. She wiggled her foot.

“Get on your knees and kiss my tacky shoe,” she said, raising her eyebrow. He obeyed, but just as he bent to kiss, she put her foot to his chest and pushed. He stumbled to the side. She chuckled.

“Come on, you snobby twat.” She clicked her tongue as if calling a pet and wiggled her foot. “Do as I say.”

He moved forward, and she kicked him back again, harder. He grunted as the heel dug into his shoulder. She laughed.

“I’m getting impatient, pet. Kiss kiss,” she said, raising her skirt just high enough so he would see there wasn’t a stitch underneath. His eyes widened. He caressed her ankle, but she moved her heel to his thigh and dug into it.

“You are a imperious, egotistical ass,” she said. He sucked in breath. He would bruise. “Aren’t you?”

He bit his lip.

“Aren’t you?” she said softly, pulling at his blond hair. She put her ear near his mouth. He didn’t know if he could talk. Her heel moved closer to his cock. His heart rate increased.

“Speak, bitch,” she said, slapping his mouth.

“Yes,” he said simply, and licked his tingling lips. Her face was just inches away. Her words were harsh, but her breath sweet. She smelled of leather and amber, and she could abuse him however much she wanted; demean, hurt and humiliate him for her pleasure. She was his queen. A goddess-

She slapped him again, vicious little strikes to his mouth as her hand remained a fist in his hair.

“Focus, pet. Your mind was wandering.” He looked into her eyes. Her gaze seared him.

“Take off your clothes,” she said. She let him go and sat back, watching as he stripped for her.

“Slower,” she said, furrowing her brow. He unzipped his pants and let them drop to the floor. He turned around and bent as he lowered his boxer briefs. “Stop!”

He froze.

She stood and walked to him. His nates tightened with her gentle touch. She purred as she flicked the buttplug he was required to wear several hours a day to keep himself open for her.

“If only your ridiculous fancyfart friends could see you now,” she said, reaching around to stroke his cock to life. He felt her naked thighs against him. She pumped suggestively against his ass, and he bent and arched.

“Ohh,” she said, digging her fingers into the wings of his hips as she ground into him. “You’d show them how well-trained you are, yes?”

She squeezed firmly around the sensitive head of his cock. He whimpered and reached back to press her hips to him. She let him.

“Would you? Speak.” she said. She ground into him so the the plug would stroke his prostate. He had a blissed out grin on his face that made her want to fuck him senseless.

“Yes, I would,” he said. She dragged her short fingernails down the valley of his back, leaving red marks, then bent to bite the back of his neck, something she couldn’t do without high heels. He moaned. She squeezed his balls gently - just enough to make him stiffen.

“You’d let them see how good you take my cock, hmm?” she said, then squeezed his shaft, moving her fist slowly, firmly, up.

He whimpered, but did not respond.

“Their nemesis, high and mighty former Minister Hoynes, moaning and panting like a bitch as he takes my big. brown. cock,” she said, thrusting hard into his ass at the last three words.

“Yes! Yes!” he said, trembling as his cock thrust into her tight fist with each movement.

She wrapped her leg around his and jerked fast, grinding her wet pussy against his hip. His eyes were closed with pleasure, his lovely lips parted.

“And you know you couldn’t come until you’d made me come with your tight little ass, right?”

He nodded enthusiastically.

She slapped his ass hard. “Speak!”

“Yes!” he cried out.

She moved him to the sofa. “On your knees, hands on the arm.”

He obeyed quickly. His cock bobbed against his belly it was so hard. It was beautiful to behold. There was no better remedy for frustration. At least, for her.

She took off her blouse, then her bra. Underneath the expensive covering, there were twin-pierced nipples. He was marked, but with all the gym visits and saunas with his rich buddies, it was only visible under ultraviolet light. But it was there, tattooed to the wing of his hip, curving into the base of his cock. Her name.

He put his cheek against the cushioned arm of the sofa and stared adoringly. She knelt behind him, reached around and began her slow grind again. He moaned.

“You wish I was wearing a strap right now, hmm?” she said. She stroked him at the same rhythm she ground into his ass.

“Yes.”

“Stroking into that tight ass to the base?” she said. He was wet with arousal. She stopped stroking his cock to lick her fingers. His musk made her want to be mean.

“Until I came hard, inside you?” she said.

He nodded. His excitement was narcotic to her.

“Show me. Move your hips like a whore on that big dick.” She leaned back as he ground artful figure eights into her. The muscles of his back moved liquidly, and he bit his lip as he looked back at her. He was a vision.

“You are a perfect slut for me,” she said, but she couldn’t continue the game - her pussy was on fire. She wrestled him into lying on his back on the sofa and sat on his face. He licked her eagerly, caressing her thighs.

“You think you earned this?” she said, looking down and into his eyes. He licked her clit softly.

She pulled his hair. “Hmm?” She raised her hips.

“No,” he said, shaking his head.

She smiled. “You didn’t. But you can try.” She sat on his chest, spreading wide so he can see her swollen, wet cunt. She spread her lips and squeezed her clit. She shivered. He moaned.

She leaned back to stroke his cock, and rolled her hips, flaunting herself. His lower lip quivered. Her cunt twitched visibly.

“Ooh, you’re almost there, pet,” she said. “That’s just delicious.” She jerked him slow and rubbed her slick slit against his chin. “Make me want it.”

He licked his lips, then the edges of his teeth. His eyes were dark amber with hunger. If there was anything more beautiful in the world, she couldn’t think of it.

She sat on his face again. He whimpered and curled underneath her, eager to please. He grabbed her ass and pressed her harder into his face as his tongue swirled from her opening to her clit, then sucked her clit into his mouth.

“Just like that,” she said between gritted teeth. His eyes rolled back with the taste and feel of her. She tugged firmly at his hair. He slurped her down, then sucked. She was close. “You know how to make me come hard in your slut mouth,” she said.

He groaned into her. She tightened dangerously as he suck-licked her hard and fast. He was a treasure.

“Make me come on your clever tongue, honey,” she moaned. She ground into him. It was getting harder for him to breathe, but he didn’t fuck up the rhythm. His knees rose to his chest slowly as his chest burned with lack of oxygen.

“Make me come, Aiden. Make me-“ She cried out as pleasure shot from her pussy to her heart. He didn’t stop, even as his chest contracted, and the waves deepened, making her smile at the ceiling. She lifted her hips and he took a whooping breath, but his face was ecstatic.

“Thank you,” he said hoarsely.

“Such good manners,” she said. She gently pinched his lip, then lowered herself on him so he could lick her clean.

* * *

 They lay on the sofa, naked, caressing each other. She kissed the new bruise her heel left on his shoulder.

“The interview was… interesting,” he finally said, kissing the swell of her breast.

“You understand why I did it?” she said, stroking his soft hair.

“I think so,” he said. “At first, I was a bit confused. I thought were going to carry on my policies, like we agreed.”

“I did too, but after some quiet thought, I felt it was in both of our interests to change certain things around,” she said, cupping his face in her hand. Her other hand still stroked him gently, keeping him half hard for love. “You trust me not to undermine you, don’t you?”

He nodded. She cocked her head.

“Then why were you upset earlier?” she said.

“I wasn’t.”

She sucked her teeth. “You know I hate it when you lie to me.” Her eyes went hard. He looked away.

“You still think I want to cut your legs out from under you like your ex wife?” she said. She let go of his cock. There was an edge of disbelief in her voice.

“The Prime Minister, you mean?” he said. Bitterness made his tone sharp.

“Fuck her,” she said, and stood up. “I’m sick of living in that cunt’s shadow. Get dressed.”

He obeyed, but he had a look of regret. He shouldn’t have mentioned her. But then again, she asked for complete honesty.

She walked to the kitchen door and opened it. The March night was cold and dark. “Out.”

He frowned.

She sighed as if treating a moron. “You put me in the same category as that duplicitous hag,” she said. “I don’t want to be in the same stratosphere as her. And never, ever, in the same sentence.” Her mouth pursed, as if she refrained from spitting. “You think I’m a heartless, selfish cunt. Then have it. Get the fuck out.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want you under the same roof as me. Out! Now!” she yelled passionately. He knew he fucked up. He sagged and walked out to the garden. He would have to get the best sleep he could in the cold pottery studio she built back by the slumbering roses.

She threw his coat on the damp grass. “And if I don’t find you in there later-“ she breathed deep through her nose loudly with wrath.

He nodded. She slammed the door. He watched her morosely as she picked up her clothes from the living room floor. She was hurt. He was an asshole.

He did trust her. With his body, and his life. But his ex-wife’s shadow was long and forbidding. She had worked so hard to build up his confidence, but he wasn’t there yet. He looked toward the small shed-cum-studio. It would be a long night without her body pressed against him, snoring softly. But he didn’t deserve it. Her love. Her implicit trust that he wouldn’t undermine her just as soon as she got into a position to knock his ex off her pedestal.

Despite their very real passion, he still had not decided whether to stay his hand once she got him close enough to strike. But he was on the verge of tipping toward clemency, which was much more than he could admit for any woman before her. It was a good sign, and good enough for him.

He settled into a high backed chair. Clay dust billowed around him, releasing the mildewy mud smell he had started to relate to her bad moods. Odd how it was comforting. He pulled his jacket closer around him and wondered whether she was crying.

Maybe. It made him hard again to know she cared enough to do it. He imagined her face, lovely, blotchy and red with passion. Hot cheeks and lashes that clung together with salt water. Her hiccups and trembling wails of anger and hurt.

She cared about him. She loved him. Despite his boner, there was a lump in his throat. She didn’t want her to cry. He didn’t deserve her tears. She was everything. He didn’t how how lost he was until her hand twisted painfully in his hair. She had gifted him with peace, and the strength and confidence to start rebuilding himself.

He could not let her down. Letting her down was ruining his only true chance at happiness. He saw her through the window, drinking a glass of water. His heart contracted with love.

He could endure for her. Would endure. She was far too beautifully clever for him not to.

* * *

 He woke to her warm lips, kissing him awake.

“Wake up, love.”

His muscles were sore. It took a couple of seconds to realize he was shivering. He looked at his watch. It was only a quarter after 2 in the morning. He hadn’t been asleep for more than three hours.

“Come,” she said, kissing his trembling jaw and pulling him to standing. “It’s enough.”

He walked sleepily behind her and into the house. After the musty chill of the studio, the house was almost erotically warm. He went into the bathroom to pee, then stripped. She waited for him in bed, deliciously naked and with arms outstretched. She shivered because his skin was still cool. She covered his face in butterfly kisses and wrapped her legs around him. Oh, but she was luscious. In seconds, he was hard.

They made love, face to face, mouth to mouth, rocking slowly, sleepily, to orgasm.

**Author's Note:**

> This plot bunny's been blowing around in my mind for almost a year - the idea of Aiden getting into a serious D/s relationship with another politician, and the contrast between who he is with her and the face he shows to the world. Even in his thoughts after their encounter, it is evident that he is no shrinking violet, and despite his affection he is still the very ambitious man he's always been. 
> 
> My goal is to depict a submissive man as not being a milquetoast. He's powerful, ambitious, smart, a bit conniving ... and he also loves to have a woman dominate him in all sorts of creative ways. Nothing's better. 
> 
> This story's practice. A way to knock a proper longform plot loose in my skull. For those who like a bit of submissive man porn - I hope you liked it.


End file.
